


Les Règles du Jeu

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Series: L'Histoire Française [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Drinking, Games, Gaming, M/M, Sex, Sex Games, games night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: Games night at PJ's. Phil wants to play.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt over on tumblr :) check it out for more l'histoire related stuff! danfanciesphil.tumblr.com

“Scared?” 

Phil’s hand is on Dan’s knee. It’s actually quite a bit above his knee, somewhere in the vicinity of ‘thigh’. If Dan turns to look Phil in his dastardly face, he knows he’ll find that glimmer of mischief tucked into his glacier blue irises. Phil’s hand squeezes, just enough to make Dan question whether or not they’re on the same page. 

“A little,” Dan admits, staring determinedly out of the windscreen of Phil’s car. 

The street they’re parked on is deserted and dark. Big, ornate black streetlamps are positioned at perfect intervals, haloing random objects below with rings of yellow light. Just beyond the car they’re sat in, a postbox is perfectly centred in one of these pools of warm gold; if this were a video game, Dan would bound up to it and hit it with his sword, to make it spill its secrets. He supposes that’s the right mindset for the current situation. 

“Maybe we should do something about that,” Phil says, his voice dragging over each syllable. It makes Dan’s stomach clench; carefully, he places his own hand over Phil’s. 

“Like what?” 

Phil shrugs, like he’s thinking off the top of his head. “We could make our own game. Just for us.” 

Dan turns to his boyfriend, trying to peel back that innocent expression to reveal the secrets he knows are tucked beneath. He fails, too distracted by the hand on his leg, still tightly gripping. 

“What did you have in mind?” Dan asks, heart already picking up speed. 

Christ, it’s been a year and Phil can still drive him batshit with want, just from a few carefully chosen words that hint at a naughtier meaning. If anyone else were to hear this conversation, it probably wouldn’t seem all that treacherous, but Phil is a master at concealing his kinkier side - as Dan is finding out. 

Phil leans a bit closer, his long eyelashes fluttering as he tracks his gaze quickly up and down Dan’s body. The shadows from the streetlamps create spidery flickers across his cheeks. “We could have a little competition,” he says. “Dan versus Phil.” 

Out of instinct, Dan leans in as well, drawn in by the perfect, sharp features of the man who stole his heart long ago. “How’s that work?” 

“Say we play a game and you win, that’s a point to you,” Phil says, then reaches up with his other hand to move a curl from Dan’s forehead. “If I win, that’s a point to me. At the end of the night, we see who won.”

Dan’s mouth twitches; he sees where this is going now. “Oh, right. And what do we get if we win?” 

Their faces are close now, lips almost brushing. It must be uncomfortable for Phil, leaning over the gearstick, but he doesn’t seem to want to complain. He smiles, devilishly, and steals a quick kiss from Dan’s lips. It’s so fleeting that Dan wants to protest, wants to chase it and lose himself in Phil’s mouth properly, but he knows that this is not the time. 

“How about,” Phil murmurs, moving to whisper in Dan’s ear. “If I win, I get to do whatever I like to you.” 

Dan’s breath catches, though he tries not to let it show. This is no ordinary prize, and Phil knows it. There are things Phil wants to do, many things, that Dan hasn’t quite got to grips with yet. It hadn’t taken long for Dan to realise that Phil gets a bit more excited when he’s more… in control of situations. It doesn’t bother Dan in the slightest, in fact he’s more than happy to have Phil slip on his sexy teacher voice and boss him around in French - there’s probably nothing he could imagine that’s hotter - but that’s not the extent of Phil’s desires, and he’s admitted as much before. 

Phil’s never tried to hide it, is perfectly happy to admit that he’s a bit kinkier than Dan perhaps expected him to be. He tells Dan that indulging this side of him is not crucial to their sex life, that he never wants to do anything Dan is one hundred percent on board with. But, well, Dan isn’t certain whether he’s on board or not. He’s never tried anything particularly risqué in the bedroom. God knows Stephanie didn’t go in for all that stuff - when they’d had sex it’d mostly been the same three positions once a fortnight. 

So, cautiously, Dan has been offering his willingness to experiment. And Phil, bless his heart, has been fantastic. He’s allowed Dan to dip his toes in one at a time, never pushing, always making sure he’s happy and enjoying himself. He makes it fun, does things like this, creating games and little scenarios where Dan feels safe and excited. And, Dan must admit, so far everything they’ve tried has been beyond amazing. He’d thought Phil was good in bed anyway, but now… he’s beginning to suspect that he’d only scraped the surface of Phil’s sexual prowess. It’s exciting, exhilarating, to think of all the possible things to come, but it’s also a bit scary. 

So, tentatively, Dan takes a deep breath in, remembering that he has total trust in Phil, and that Phil would rather die than do something Dan didn’t like or want. 

He nods. “A-and if I win?” 

Dan can feel the stretch of Phil’s lips grazing the shell of his ear. “What, you don’t have anything you want to do to me?”

A whip of arousal slices through Dan from sternum to pelvis. He can certainly think of some things, now that Phil mentions it. “Okay,” he agrees quickly. “You’re on.” 

Just then, there’s a knock on the window at Dan’s side, making him spring away from Phil in fright. They both turn to see John, excitedly waving at them through the glass, holding up a box with ‘Settlers of Catan’ written on it. 

“Trust John to bring the most boring looking game in existence,” Phil says through the gritted teeth of his fixed return smile. 

Dan tries not to laugh too obviously, and signals to John that they’re getting out of the car. 

Stood together on the pavement, some vaguely awkward half hugs and slaps on the arm are exchanged, and then they all amiably make their way up the stone steps to what Dan assumes is PJ’s house. It’s a townhouse, sharing walls with the two others either side of it, but it’s tall and imposing, with a bleached white front, and layers of windows that suggest numerous floors. 

John presses the buzzer, and as he converses with PJ through the speaker, Phil leans over and whispers in Dan’s ear. “Ready?” 

“If I beat PJ, will he fire me?” Dan asks; Phil laughs, to Dan’s dismay. He’s not sure he was joking. 

“Think you should be more focused on beating me,” Phil replies, then winks, the fucker. 

PJ opens the door, positively beaming at them all, arm thrown wide to invite them in. “Friends, co-workers, mammals, come in, come in!” 

He embraces each of them in turn as they step over the threshold, toeing off their shoes despite PJ’s apparent indifference to whether they do or don’t. He leads them up a set of carpeted stairs, John chatting away about the school day that’s just passed, carrying on an earlier conversation that Dan can’t really follow. Something about the school of governors, he thinks. He exchanges a look of bafflement with Phil, and is immensely glad, not for the first time, that this ditzy angel of a man is his. He reaches out and grabs Phil’s hand, gripping tight. 

“Right, folks, drinks?” PJ asks once they’ve emerged in an open plan floor space, hands clapping together. As his palms meet, the lights suddenly switch to a swamp green, like they’ve been submerged in a pond. “Oops!” he cries, laughing, then claps his hands again. This time, the lights are a Princess purple. He shrugs. “That’ll do. So, Dan, my man, I’m sensing a cider vibe?” 

Still caught in the magic of the colour changing clapper lights, Dan takes a moment to understand the question. “Oh. Uh, y-yeah? Cider’s great, thanks.”

“Phil, you’re on _le vin rouge_, obviously. John, old boy, shall we polish off that bottle of cognac we’ve been working on for a while?” 

Just then, a woman appears, petite and round-faced, with a bob of tight brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. She sidles quietly to stand beside PJ, smiling, and he puts an arm lightly around her shoulders, leans in and presses a kiss to her head before darting off into the kitchen. 

“Soph!” Phil cries, delighted, “you’re joining us?” 

“As if Peej would let me sit out,” she replies. “Hey John, how’s the baby?” 

“The wife’s looking after her tonight,” John says with a grin. “I’m a free man for one night only.” 

“Lucky you,” Sophie replies with a polite laugh, then turns to Dan, head tilted expectantly. 

“Oh, sorry,” Phil says suddenly. “Soph, this is Dan, my boyfriend.” 

Even a year in, hearing Phil refer to him this way sends a little pulse of thrill through Dan. He smiles warmly at Sophie, holding out a hand for her to take. 

“Great to meet you,” he says; her small hand has a surprisingly strong grip. 

PJ re-emerges then, holding a tray laden with various drinks, and he demands everyone follow his lead into the lounge area, where several beanbag chairs have been arranged around a huge coffee table. In the middle are towers of board game boxes, along with a pile of video game controllers, which must correspond to the plasma TV on the wall, underneath which seems to be every games console Dan can think of, including many that he’s forgotten ever existed - the Nintendo 64, for example. 

The drinks are handed out, and the others quickly fall into easy discussion about various new electronic games that Dan can’t really join in with as he doesn’t keep up with that stuff, but is perfectly happy to listen to. He likes gaming a lot, but rarely has the opportunity these days. He doesn’t even have a console at his house anymore, having had to sell his Xbox in his second year of university to afford food. Phil has a Nintendo Switch at his house, so Dan’s been flexing his Mario Kart muscles, but that’s about it. 

“So!” PJ exclaims at a random point in mid-conversation. “What shall we start with?” 

“Tokaido!” Phil answers at once. 

Dan turns to him in confusion, certain Phil is speaking gibberish. 

“Tokaido alright with everyone else?” PJ asks, pulling a white box with minimalist design from the pile. 

As PJ sets up the board, running through an endless list of complicated rules that skim over Dan’s scalp like sleet, a slow, creeping dread begins crawling up his arms. He turns to look at Phil, who is wearing a serene, placid smile, eyes trained on PJ; somehow though, Dan just knows that the little shit is thinking ‘_got you_’. 

*

Phil wins Tokaido, and this seems to be a surprise to absolutely no one. Even Dan had cottoned on early that Phil is exceptionally good at the game, which is presumably why he chose it. Dan does okay, though he spends a good deal of it wistfully admiring the beautiful artistic depictions of Japan that are all over the board. 

The next person to pick a game is John, who chooses Scrabble, undeterred by the chorus of protesting groans, insisting that it’s a ‘classic’ and ‘a must for any games night’. Dan, secretly quite pleased by the choice, as it’s something he at least knows, goes first, and immediately dominates the board with an impressive eight letter: ‘maximise’. He keeps up a fair score after this, whereas Phil repeatedly tries to cheat by using french vocabulary, and PJ - strictly against cheating of any kind - ends up deducting ten points from his score, placing him last. Dan comes second, so it’s still 1-0 to Phil in their behind-the-scenes game. 

After this they break for drinks and snacks. Sophie has made gluten free crackers with a variety of dips, and Dan is unashamedly an absolute slut for dips, so he goes a bit mad. Phil laughs at his eagerness, loading up crackers with multiple dips at once and feeding them to Dan in order to watch his reaction. It’s unreasonably hilarious for about ten minutes, and then Dan feels Phil’s fingers tickling softly against the small of his back, and he feels less hungry than he ever has in life. 

The drink glasses are filled, John’s anecdote is cut short, and PJ claps the lights to a weird orange colour. “Gentlemen,” he says, his face all curves and shadows from the odd mood lighting, “it is time.” 

He produces a box, light blue and covered in wispy, pink and white clouds. It looks homemade, but not in a terrible way - more like the kind of creation you’d see on a craft-obsessed mother’s Pinterest. He lifts the hinged lid to reveal what could be thirty or more games controllers, from the Xbox to the Wii. He reaches in, pulling out three Nintendo Switches.

The game is Super Smash Bros, which Dan is, at the very least, competent at. But this is only because practically anyone can be decent at Smash Bros if they have all ten fingers, and the dexterity to jab at every single button within reach until the game ends. PJ wins, by a mile. Dan and Phil come second and third, in that order, but it doesn’t matter that Dan is technically ahead, because he didn’t win, and therefore the score is still, infuriatingly, in Phil’s favour. 

It’s only Sophie and Dan that haven’t put forward a game to play yet, so Dan graciously allows Sophie to go ahead of him, as he’s still trying to figure out what he wants to play. Sophie chooses Two Truths and a Lie, which turns out to be hilarious; the five of them are at least three drinks in at this point, so every round is punctuated with increasing amounts of raucous laughter breaks, as people’s Truths and Lies grow more and more absurd. Dan can be a pretty good liar, but not when he’s tipsy, so he doesn’t get very far. Phil’s answers intrigue him, as every snippet of information about Phil tends to do: _“I have an A Level in Film Editing, I’ve been diagnosed with dyspraxia, I hate all cheese.” _In particular, the A Level is interesting, as Phil’s career had ended up veering off in such a different direction, but Dan is still proud that he guesses the lie correctly.Not many people believe that Phil could actually hate cheese, so hedoes pretty well, but the real dark horse is Sophie, whose neutral, innocent expression is virtually impossible to read. 

Finally, it’s Dan’s turn to pick. All eyes land on him expectantly; there’s a particular gleam in Phil’s that Dan itches to swipe off, despite the itching feeling that if he just admitted defeat now, let Phil do his worst, it would probably be a fucking great time. 

“Well, Mr Howell?” PJ asks, cheeks warm and rosy from the whiskey, and from the cider he’s been drinking alongside Dan - some kind of cherry flavour, he thinks, tangy and sweet. “If you’re worried I won’t own whichever game you want to play, I assure you it will likely be somewhere in this house.” 

“Oops. Didn’t I mention that I shipped all your unused games to the charity shop a few months ago?” Sophie teases, catching his nose briefly between two knuckles. She’s come out of her shell a little now, helped along by the alcohol, and her tremendous victory in the last round. “You’ll have to start your collection anew.” 

PJ laughs, tackles her to the ground for a minute or so; Dan exchanges a wry smile with Phil, and for a moment the competition is forgotten. Their fingertips inch across the carpet to one another. And then PJ is sitting up again, glasses askew, laughing gaily and demanding Dan pick his battleground. 

“Fine, fine,” Dan calls out, pulling his hand back from Phil’s. He lets his confidence leak out into his grin. “Mario Kart.” 

*

“Obliterated!” John cries, halfway out of the door. There’s a slide to his voice, like a shoe slipping in a patch of mud. “Absolutely demolished every one of us, the little bugger-” 

“Hm, perhaps don’t refer to our TA’s as ‘buggers’ John,” PJ says, half-stern, half-tickled. “They may quit on us, and then where would we be? Devoid of an artiste, not to mention Phil’s better half.” 

“Sorry,” John says tiredly, waving to Dan as he turns, “s’just the whiskey talking. Very impressive, Dan. All the… skidding around and shell throwing and such. Not my sort of game, but we all have our strengths…” 

By this point, he’s reached the bottom of the steps leading down into the street, barely audible, so PJ turns to Dan and Phil, still stood coated and buttoned beside him. Dan feels syrupy and happy from a surprisingly fun evening, and knows that he will tell PJ as much, in a sloppy, drunken sort of way that can’t be stopped from pouring out of his mouth. 

“Peej,” Phil jumps in before Dan can speak, “you are _truly_ the games master.” 

“I was letting your man off easy this time,” PJ warns, eyes glimmering over Phil’s shoulder at Dan as he hugs him, “next time it’s a full D&D quest.” 

Dan’s eyebrows raise. “Dee and dee?”

Phil rears back from PJ, shaking his head. “Don’t ask, _cheri_. We’ll be here all night.”

“You’ll find out.” PJ winks, drawing Dan in for his own hug. As PJ squeezes him, Dan can hear the puckered air kisses between Phil and Sophie going on behind him. “He’s one of a kind, Dan,” PJ says then, low and soft into Dan’s ear. “Don’t forget that.” 

Then he pulls away, grin back in place, joining in Phil and Sophie’s enthusiastic parting promises of coffee dates and long pub walks, his hands clapping together and shifting the lights from violet to turquoise, and then into what seem like the normal, factory-cream setting. 

Not sure how to respond to PJ, or even if PJ would acknowledge a response at all, Dan simply stares, discreetly, hoping that PJ somehow notices. _Of course not_, Dan thinks loudly at him, _of course I’ll never forget_. 

*

“So… what do we do about…” Dan hesitates, waiting until Phil has unlocked the front door before continuing. 

Of course, in the seconds that follow, Buffy lurches out in a maddening dash for the front lawn, but Phil catches her mid leap, laughing at her eagerness. They take her squirming and panting little body through to the hall, where Phil sets her down once Dan has shut the door. 

“Calm down, _petit chien_, Dan will give you a cuddle soon,” Phil is saying as he shakes his coat down his arms. Buffy is circling Dan’s legs, eyes turned up towards him - _pick me up, stroke me, play!_ \- but Dan is finding it hard, for once, to concentrate on her cuteness. “What were you saying?” 

He holds out a hand for Dan’s coat. Dan struggles out of it, biting the inside of his cheek. All the way home, Phil had been in a deep conversation with the taxi driver, as it turned out he had a son in Phil’s class. Dan had sat brooding, staring out of the window, unable to contribute (he has no classes with this student) and wishing the peppy driver would shut up and give his boyfriend back, as there was a fairly urgent matter they needed to discuss. 

“We drew,” Dan says, following him through to the lounge, Buffy hot on his heels. “Our game. What do we do now?” 

Phil tosses him a mischievous glance over his shoulder. “Fancy a nightcap? Think I have some _vin rouge_ around here somewhere…” 

He heads into the kitchen, too quick for Dan to murder him, unfortunately. Eyes rolling, Dan strolls after him, going directly to the French windows to let Buffy out - a habit he’s grown into, when coming into Phil’s house. 

“Thanks,” Phil says, reaching up into the back of a cupboard, “she probably needs a wee. We were gone ages.” 

Instead of replying, Dan chooses to lean against the counter and look at Phil, at the way his body lengthens, his shirt untucking from his jeans, the creases taut over his straining shoulder muscles. 

After a minute, Phil makes an “aha” noise, then sinks back down from his tiptoes, clutching an ancient looking bottle of wine. Phil’s not a huge drinker, despite the amount they both consumed when they first began dating (nerves, apparently, Phil later confessed, along with an attempt to occupy his mouth and hands so he wouldn’t put them all over Dan; this last excuse had given Dan heart palpitations for hours after he heard it), but he is a Francophile down to the core in his love of good wine. He sometimes mentions that he has a few expensive, old bottles lying around, brought back from regions of France that Dan is unable to pronounce. But Dan has never actually seen any of these bottles; he’ll drink wine if it’s there, but he hasn’t the nose for it, so he’s the first to admit it would be wasted on him. He doesn’t blame Phil for never producing these marvellous wines when they have an evening in together. Now, though, appears to be an exception. 

“It’s an ‘84,” Phil says as he uncorks it, like Dan will have any idea what that means. “Orwell’s year. Drink this, taste the revolution that never came.” 

He hands Dan a glass; the wine is thick and dark, almost purple. He takes a tentative sip. The flavour explodes across his tongue, vibrant and cloying, tart as a fresh lime. He winces without meaning to, and Phil laughs, pulls him close, kisses his cheek. 

“Don’t worry _mon coeur_, you don’t have to love it,” he murmurs, “just something to relax you.” 

At this, Dan’s eyebrow quirks. He pulls back to look at Phil, wondering if he’s misheard. “Relax me for what?” 

Just then, Buffy begins scrabbling at the door, her whines fogging the glass. Phil goes to her so quickly that Dan can’t help feeling a little put out, but he hides his pout in his wine glass, taking another cautious mouthful. It’s not awful, he decides, but he’s not sure he’d pay what it’s probably worth. 

“Oh, _pauvre bébé,” _Phil coos when Buffy slips through the door the moment he opens it, _“pauvre somnolente Buffy.” _

On cue, Buffy yawns, eyelids half shut as she looks imploringly at her owner. 

“Go sit in the lounge,” Phil says, and it takes Dan a moment to realise that Phil is talking to him, “I’ll just put her to bed.” 

*

“So we drew, did we?” 

Phil has Dan’s foot in his hands, and is digging his thumbs in slow circles on the underside, which is about as painful as it is delicious. Dan’s eyes open when he hears the question; they’d been speaking about something else, something that’s lost now in the wine-soaked edges of his mind. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dan replies, “weren’t you keeping score?” 

Phil just smiles. “So what should we do about it?” 

Dan swallows, sips wine. “Not sure.”

“I have a suggestion,” Phil says immediately. His thumbnail carves a line down Dan’s sole, from the ball to the heel. It makes Dan shudder. “All or nothing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“We play one last game,” Phil explains, releasing Dan’s foot so that he can slide towards him up the couch. “And the winner takes it all.” 

Phil has ahold of his hand, is pressing his lips against the palm. Dan swallows again, has to place his glass on the floor. “Wh-what game?” 

“How about a new game,” Phil purrs, crawling up even further, their faces close. “To make it fair.”

“Have I heard of it?” Dan asks; his heart is in his throat. 

It’s wild, that Phil has such an effect on him, still. He still gets the burst of butterflies whenever Phil slips into this mood, eyes trained on Dan, scheming all the things he wants to do with him in that hypnotic, glorious fantasyland of a mind. 

Phil shakes his head. “I think you’ll like it though.” 

When Phil kisses him, Dan almost whimpers, it’s so good. But he pulls away, his face a question mark, and Dan nods, goes along with it, anything to appease him, to have his lips back again. It makes Phil smile, and Dan’s heart melts into gooey toffee. 

“So, you wanna hear the rules?” 

Dan nods, too nervous to speak as he watches Phil rise to his knees, either side of Dan’s legs. 

“It’s a kissing game,” Phil says, smirk wicked. 

“Kissing?” 

He grabs Dan’s hand, pushes lips against it again. “Yep. We start kissing, and we don’t stop,” he says, biting briefly, softly, at the heel of Dan’s palm, “until one of us,” his other hand is snaking up Dan’s thigh, “touches the other.” He squeezes the top of Dan’s leg, making him squeak. “With our hands.” 

Realisation, horrible and indisputable, dawns on Dan. “And the winner is the one who manages not to touch? When we’re _making out_?” 

Phil grins. “You in?” 

“God,” Dan groans, head tipping back. Even the idea has his dick aching. He loves touching Phil, loves the heat of his body, the way he guides Dan’s hands where he wants them, but lets him explore all the same, not shy about any part of himself, encouraging of Dan’s wandering hands. How is he supposed to get through this, let alone win it? “Fuck it,” Dan sighs, “sure.” 

Still grinning, Phil leans in, hands on the cushion either side of Dan’s head. “Hands off then,” he says. Dan hadn’t even realised that he was touching Phil’s chest until now; he’s evidently doomed. He lifts his hands away, pushing them into his own curls. “Ready?”

“Not really, but let’s go,” Dan replies, and then he is being kissed. 

Dan really should have suspected that Phil would play dirty, but somehow the thought never occurred that Phil could actually intentionally make this even harder of a challenge. He’s still atop Dan’s thighs, his own hands digging into the cushion behind Dan, but the handicap doesn’t seem to have any effect on his kissing ability. 

His tongue teases at Dan’s lower lip, tracing over and over along the seam where the soft inner flesh meets the papery texture covering the outside. Dan tries to kiss back hard, to draw Phil’s tongue inside, but Phil is at a serious advantage being on top of him; he dominates the way their mouths move, and Dan finds himself sinking backward, letting Phil dictate the slide of their spit-slick mouths until he’s desperate, keening. He winds his fingers into his hair, having to tell himself over and over not to give in, not to clutch at Phil’s shoulders, his head, his ass. 

Phil moves his hips too, and Dan realises now that he should have insisted on more rules about this. Through the haze of treacly dark wine and white hot lust, It’s getting harder to think, to remember the reasons why he can’t just push his hand between their bodies, find the buckle of Phil’s belt and prise it open. His fingers slide from his hair, dancing in the air around Phil’s body, twitching and restless. Dan opens his eyes to watch them, to make sure they don’t misbehave and act of their own accord. 

Phil seems to be having less trouble, though his hip movements are tellingly fervent, his erection obvious against Dan’s hip. His hands are knotted in the cushion cover, knuckles twisting into the fabric. Dan is going to lose this game, he knows it already, knew it from the start perhaps. So he might as well last as long as he can, get Phil teetering on the edge of his restraint. 

He pushes his hips up into Phil’s, a last resort move, but one that works exceptionally well. Phil gasps, their mouths breaking apart for a moment; Dan hears the release and clutch of his fingers against the cushion, as if he had to stop himself from moving them. 

Minutes pass, their mouths getting sloppy and wet, Dan’s jaw aching, his dick so hard he’s sure it would erupt with the slightest brush of bare skin against it; then, finally, his resolve breaks. It happens when Phil, the evil bastard, kicks things up a notch, moving his mouth to Dan’s neck before Dan realises what’s happening. 

Almost instantly, Dan yelps, his hands slamming down against Phil’s back, gripping tightly; he can feel the warm breath of Phil’s laughter right over his frantic pulse. 

“I win,” he whispers. 


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you want to do with me?” Dan asks, a tremor snaking through his words. 

He’s sat on Phil’s bed in just his underwear, half wishing he still had his wine glass, though he’d almost certainly end up spilling it, as every fleck of his attention is on Phil, who is undressing in the middle of the room. Phil aims a smile his way, pulling the sleeves of his shirt free, then letting the garment fall to the floor. 

He reaches for his belt, which he unfastens in a flick, then slides it free of the belt loops in one fluid motion. He doesn’t let this fall to the floor, however. He holds either end in each of his hands, pulling it taut, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’ve got some ideas.” 

Dan swallows, eyes falling to the belt. “Is this going to hurt?” he squeaks. 

“No, no, no,” Phil says, quickly slipping back into his sweet, reassuring self. Dan’s bare shoulders release some of their tension. Phil edges closer, kneeling on the edge of the mattress and leaning in to steal a kiss. “This is going to feel very, very good, _chaton_.” 

“Oh,” Dan replies; his eyes close as Phil’s mouth moves down his neck, lips skimming over his sensitive skin - not quite enough. 

“Put your hands behind your back,” Phil tells him, then lifts the belt over Dan’s head and down behind him, encircling him. 

Dazed and slow from alcohol and pulsating, eager desire, Dan does as he’s told, keeping his eyes fixed on Phil’s. “Like this?” 

“Yeah, just like that,” Phil says with a wolfish smile. He kisses Dan again. “Doing so good.” 

The next feeling is leather, warm from Phil’s body heat, wrapping itself around both his wrists, locking them together. Dan sucks in a breath, heart picking up speed, and tries to use Phil’s deep blue eyes as an anchor so he doesn’t drift away on a sea of anxiety. 

“Okay?” Phil asks, ever so serious as he loops the belt round and round, then secures it with the fastening, not needing to look. “We can stop anytime, remember.” 

“Okay,” Dan says, these comforting words melting away some of the stress. 

“Safeword?” 

“Yeezy,” Dan replies; a smile twitches as he says it. 

They’d discussed this last time Dan had consented to trying something new, when Phil had slipped a swath of fabric over his eyes, and teased him with wandering hands, never where Dan suspected they would stray, until he’d pleaded so fervently for Phil to bring him off that Phil had grown a little worried. Most of the time, Dan cannot be shut up about the genius of Kanye’s album, but he knows he’d never accidentally let it slip during sex with Phil. His admiration can only be devoted to one man at a time, and when he’s with Phil, there’s no one else. 

Phil chuckles quietly, then presses a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “That’s right.” 

He kisses Dan’s cheek again, a little softer, a little longer, a little wetter, then moves down, mouths at Dan’s jaw for a moment, brushes lips along to the spot below his ear. He pushes his mouth against Dan’s neck, each kiss eliciting a new shiver, until Dan is pulling uselessly at his restraint, aching to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders. 

Phil moves down to Dan’s collarbone - an area of Dan’s body he has said, repeatedly, that he adores (_”j’adore ton clavicules, mon amour”_). His fingers skitter over Dan’s ribs, which are puffing quickly in an out at the rate of his accelerated breathing. Dan lets his head tip back and closes his eyes against the familiar, but electrifying, sensation of Phil’s hot, wet mouth against his bare skin. Again, he tugs at the belt securing his hands, mostly out of instinct to touch Phil as he pours this endless, hypnotising affection onto Dan’s body. But the belt holds fast. 

Phil’s lips have reached Dan’s left nipple now, and he sighs into the sharp sting of pleasure that zips through him as Phil’s teeth capture the nub and pull, gently. The peculiar duality of pain and pleasure is something Dan has never experienced with past lovers, but Phil can procure it in him with ease. Phil knows, possibly from his own experiences that Dan would prefer not to think about, just the right level of torture to push Dan to (a low, low, level) that makes it just shy of uncomfortable, and at the same time, delicious. 

Phil’s forays into pleasure-pain are like biting into a kumquat - first, a burst of sweet, citrus juice, then a sudden aftershock of sour sharpness to chase it. Dan could eat kumquats all fucking day, he thinks, pushing his chest into Phil’s ministrations. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Phil murmurs, releasing his nipple for a moment to stare up at Dan, through thick, gorgeous lashes. “_Est-ce que ça fait plaisir, cheri?_”

Dan has to take a moment to run the question a few times through his head, making sure he understands it. His understanding of french, these days, is passable on a good day. Distracting situations tend to make it harder to focus, however. 

“_Oui_,” Dan says, blushing. 

Phil’s answering smile is mischievous. “Wait here.” 

As if he’d be going anywhere at this stage, Dan thinks, but does sigh in dismay as Phil lifts himself off the bed, walking to his chest of drawers all the way across the room. 

“Shh, I’m coming back,” Phil says. 

In the addled state he’s in, Dan had thought that the distressed whimpers coming from his mouth were Buffy, on the other side of the door. Embarrassed, Dan ducks his head, looking down at his erect, reddened nipple with a shudder of perverse thrill. When he lifts his head again, Phil is climbing back onto the bed, holding two small padded clips. They look similar to the kind Mr Horowitz uses in Science class when the kids do experiments to conduct circuits of electricity. It’s this association that has Dan immediately freezing in alarm, muscles stiffening. Surely Phil isn’t planning to _electrocute_ him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Phil asks, hesitating. His eyes flick over Dan’s wide-eyed expression. “These are nipple clamps. I think you’ll like them, if you like your nipples being played with. Can I see if I’m right?” 

The timbre of Phil’s voice is enough to soothe him. He wonders, briefly, perhaps inappropriately, if Phil’s students are equally reassured by it. He nods, wary of the intimidating clips, but it’s overridden by the immense and swirling rivers of trust he has in this man. Phil would never, ever, intentionally do anything that would really hurt him. This is a fact he knows in the very marrow of his bones. 

He also trusts that, by now, after the many occasions they have known one another intimately, Phil knows Dan’s limits. He pays attention, in a way that, at one time, actually made Dan want to hide away from him, to cover his insecurities and cringe back from the focused, concentrated attention Phil lavishes on him when they’re in private, under sheets and duvets or - a few times - on various kitchen or living room surfaces, or even the floor. 

So, when Phil pushes him back, so that he flops down on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tied hands a bump he can feel at his lower back, he breathes slowly, telling himself to let those rivers of trust wash over him. Phil attaches the first clamp to his left nipple, where he’d been biting. 

Dan’s first thought is, eyes squeezed closed, that it’s not that bad. His second thought is, as Phil’s hand strokes across his chest, then plays with the end of it a little: _holy hell that feels fucking good_. His eyes fly open, and he sucks in a gasp. Phil chuckles, darkly, then reaches over to secure the other clamp to Dan’s right nipple. 

“_Agréable_?” 

Dan nods, several times, arching his back to chase Phil’s wandering hand, trying to urge him to fiddle with the clamps again. It feels equally as thrilling as it does painful - sharp bursts of each sensation pulse through him each time Phil’s hand brushes one. He ducks his chin to look down at them; he barely recognises his own body, tied and clamped and strained - he looks like something out of a seedy porn video. It’s a wild sight, and Phil seems to agree, judging by the hungry, wicked expression he wears. 

Dan’s dick throbs wantonly as he watches the flickers of desire passing over Phil’s beautiful face; he’s running his hand over Dan’s torso, knelt between the flopped ‘V’ of Dan’s bent legs. He’s good at concealing his own emotions, Dan has learned, which is probably why Dan had spent so much time believing Phil wanted nothing more than friendship. But Dan knows Phil is hard for this, even though his jeans are still on, concealing what’s beneath. He knows because Phil won their game, and this whole evening is now unfolding under Phil’s direct instruction. This is what Phil wants, to see Dan vulnerable and naked, discovering his own body’s capability of pleasure. 

“Will you take those off?” Dan asks, nodding towards Phil’s jeans. 

In response, Phil drags his eyes up to Dan’s, glazed and heavy, then trails his fingers up, along Dan’s neck, over his chin, then pushes two into Dan’s mouth. 

“Shh, _chaton_,” he mutters; upon instinct, Dan opens wider, allows the fingers to slip further into his mouth so he can suck them. “No talking unless I ask you a question now, okay? I just want to watch you.”

Dan nods slowly, caught on the calm but authoritative tone Phil is using; he can feel the blood pooling in his groin, the wet patch forming at the peak of the tent in his underwear. Despite his instruction, Phil’s other hand does reach down to pluck at the fly of his jeans. He works a hand inside, palming himself as Dan continues to suck around Phil’s fingers, their eyes locked. 

They go on like this for a minute or so, caught in a bubble of something glorious, building between them, and then Phil pulls his fingers free, leaning back on his haunches. Given a few more minutes, Dan’s pretty sure he could have come just from that, if Phil had played with the clamps a bit more as well. 

“You’re so good, Dan,” Phil says, wistful, almost sad. “You’d do a lot for me wouldn’t you?” 

Dan hesitates, then remembers the exception of Phil’s no-speaking rule. “Anything.”

Phil sighs, but smiles faintly, and reaches for the hem of Dan’s underwear. “Lift,” he says, and Dan pushes his hips up, lets Phil slide the underwear off, down his legs, then toss them to the floor. “Okay, my turn.” 

He stands, at the foot of the bed, then pushes his jeans over his thick, firm thighs, then down his calves, then steps out of them entirely. Dan holds his breath, wondering if he’ll remove the underwear next, but he stops there, crawls back onto the bed. Dan swallows a moan of disappointment; being deprived the sight of Phil’s glorious cock - hard just from seeing Dan this way - is terrible. But then Phil is leaning over him, strong arms either side of his shoulders. On instinct, again, Dan lets his legs fall open, welcoming Phil to fit himself between them. His wrists begin to ache from how hard and often he strains at them, but it barely matters. Phil leans down, as if he’s doing a press-up, and fits his mouth over Dan’s, kisses him deeply: stripped back, raw. 

Dan groans into it, feels his hips cant upwards. Phil pushes his own forwards too, with such pressure that he grinds Dan into the bed, making him whine. His tied hands dig into his back. He can feel the hard, long line of Phil’s cock through his underwear, and it’s a fresh form of torture. 

“Think I’ll fuck you tonight,” Phil mutters, pressing soft, chaste kisses to Dan’s cheek, temple, chin - so at odds with what his hips are doing, rough and unrelenting, rubbing himself against Dan unashamedly. “Would you like that? I could fuck you just like this, keep your hands tied so you can’t touch yourself, or me, or anything.”

Dan moans, and it comes out grated and weak. He turns his face to the side, eyes squeezed shut against the intensity; Phil licks up his throat, making him spasm. 

“Want that, Dan?” Phil says, low, hot, into his ear. 

“Yes,” he chokes out, pushing up with his hips as Phil grinds against him again. 

“Okay,” Phil says, chuckling softly, “I have one more thing I wanna try, before we do that.” 

Dan’s eyes roll back, and then Phil moves away, and Dan hears the agonised sound leave his throat before he registers that he’s making it. 

“Shh,” Phil says, stroking a hand down Dan’s stomach, then over the bulge of his erection, making him cry out, “just need you to turn over, _cheri_. Can you do that for me?” 

Dan takes a moment to try and regulate his breathing, which is difficult considering that Phil’s other hand has wandered back up to play with his nipple clamps. Eventually, he nods, and struggles to sit upright without the use of his hands. When he gets there, Phil rewards him with a lingering kiss. It’s ridiculous, really, how wrecked Dan has already become - panting and moaning and sweating, so hard he could rut into the mattress without a thought - when they’ve barely done anything. Phil hasn’t even removed his underwear yet. Is this why Phil likes this kinky stuff? Is it a delay of satisfaction? Or is it - as Dan suspects it is - that he likes to be in control, to give orders and watch them being followed, observing how with every added ingredient to the mix, Dan becomes more and more desperate? 

When Phil pulls back from the kiss, there’s an eagerness in his shining blue eyes that Dan recognises from when he’s on a roll giving a speech in the classroom. He’s excited for whatever he has planned; given that Phil’s ideas range from the mad to the brilliant and usually settle somewhere in between, Dan feels he has a right to feel nervous. Nevertheless, his complete trust in this wonderful lunatic obliterates any uncertainty, and he turns over to lie on his stomach. It’s much more comfortable in this position, as his tied hands no longer dig into the base of his spine. The duvet creases snag against his nipple clamps however, tugging on them as he wriggles to get comfortable. 

“Perfect,” Phil purrs, stroking a hand over Dan’s bare buttocks, not shy about slipping a finger in the crease, as Dan has grown used to him doing whenever he gets the opportunity. It makes him shiver, as it always does. “Want to try something new?”

“Whatever you want,” Dan tells him, “you won, remember? I’m yours. Do with me what you will.” 

He’s aiming for a jokey tone, but it’s coming out thin and weakened by desperation. His cock throbs, begging him to push into the plush material beneath his hips, but he senses that he’d be told off for it, so he resists, though it requires a great deal of willpower. Willpower that he won’t be able to hold onto for much longer, he knows. 

“Hm, but I want you to want it too, _cheri_,” Phil says, the pad of his finger pressing against Dan’s perineum, “I’ve got to go and get something from across the room.” Dan whines in protest, but Phil shushes him. “I’ll be quick. I’m just going to pop a pillow underneath you now, could you lift your hips up?” Dan does so, and Phil reaches for a pillow, then slides it under his groin. Dan flops down onto it, and his dick aches to rub against it. “Don’t move your hips while I’m gone, Dan. I’m warning you, I won’t be happy if you do. I’ll be right back.”

His finger retreats, and Dan feels the mattress spring back into its shape as the depression where Phil had been lifts. Phil’s footsteps pad across the room, and Dan tries to think of something, anything, to distract himself from the roiling, incredible urge to thrust forwards into the pillow, to relieve the burning need for release. He waits, as patiently as possible, listening for sounds in the room, of which there seem to be none. 

Has Phil gone out of the room, perhaps? He didn’t hear the door open. Nor did Buffy come hurtling in, as she surely would have tried to do given the chance. Why is Phil making no noise? He said he’d be right back! It’s been several minutes now, surely, and the agony of resisting pushing his hips into the pillow is consuming him. He waits, and waits. But no sign of Phil’s return. Finally, desperate and weak, he gives in, hips stuttering forwards, dick pressing hard against the soft, delicious give of Phil’s pillow. It’s a glorious sensation, like being lifted from a stormy sea. 

“Oh, _chaton_,” Phil sighs, from very close by. His hand rests on Dan’s left butt cheek. “Perhaps you’re not as good as I thought you were.” 

“Ah, s-sorry I thought you were-”

A hand comes down, sharp, vaguely painful, against his butt cheek. “Could have sworn I told you no talking unless I asked you a question. Do you remember me saying that, Dan?” 

Dan forces himself to hesitate, to clear his mind before responding this time. “Yes.” 

“Better stick to the rules then, hm?” 

Dan nods; as he does so, his cheek rubs against the starchy duvet. His heart has begun beating wildly. Phil must have been standing nearby this whole time, watching him, waiting for him to slip up and break the one rule he’d been given. Fuck, does this mean he’ll be... punished? It’s not like he can _ask_. 

“I’m gonna open you up now, Dan,” Phil tells him, back to his normal, reassuring timbre; it’s bizarre how just the tone of his voice affects Dan’s levels of relaxation, but it does, and now he melts into the mattress, arse tilting up in anticipation, making Phil hum appreciatively. “That’s it. Relax.” 

There are some familiar noises - a cap popping open, the squeeze of a bottle, liquid spurting - and then two of Phil’s fingers slide down the crease between his cheeks, cold enough to make Dan shiver. When they reach the pucker of his entrance, Dan lets his muscles ease, used to this by now, hungry for it, even: if Heaven were a sensation, it would be Phil sliding into him. 

This time, Phil starts with just a finger, but it’s quickly joined by a second; he’s impatient tonight, and Dan has no complaints. Usually, Phil is too careful with him. It can be frustrating, as Dan is always over-eager, always on the verge of bargaining weeks of cleaning up classrooms and walking Buffy and doing the dishes if Phil will only let him come a little bit quicker. But Phil is methodical, careful, never willing to rush things if there’s a risk Dan could be hurt. Even this one small thing - two fingers so soon as he preps Dan - is rare enough for Dan to be surprised. 

He takes his time with two though, scissoring and crooking them as he slides them in and out, adding more lube, then scissoring for even longer. Hoarse from his moans and mewls in response to this, Dan pulls extra hard on his restraint and loosens it a little, feels the butt of his palm slip through a tiny bit; he’s sure he could pull it free if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He wants Phil to keep calling him good, to keep petting and praising and, most of all, fucking him with those perfectly angled fingers. 

When Phil pulls his fingers free, Dan thinks that maybe, possibly, the wait could be over and he’ll next feel Phil’s cock, freed of its material trappings at last, nudging against him hot and damp and ready. Instead, a foreign object is pushed against the puffy, widened hole where Phil’s fingers had been, and Dan tenses at once. 

“Shh,” Phil says, entangling his hand, briefly, with one of Dan’s tied ones, “you’ll like it, I promise.” 

The object is almost cold but not quite, in a robotic, un-fleshy sort of way. An instrument of some kind, rounded where it touches him, not particularly wide, but significant in girth nonetheless. Dan tries to tell his frantically pumping heart that he has nothing to be concerned about, but it doesn’t listen. He swallows, gripping Phil’s hand, and then something glorious happens. 

The object begins to quake, wonderfully, trembling with some sort of motor that sets it vibrating against his sensitive entrance. His cry of ecstasy comes out muffled by the duvet that has stuffed up his mouth. Phil barely moves the thing, just lets it rest against that one spot until Dan’s eyes are watering, until his hips begin rocking back into it. He can feel the vibrations coursing through him: waves of sparkling bliss. After a while, Dan loses track of how long precisely, Phil inches whatever it is inside of him, just a short way, and black spots puncture across Dan’s vision. 

“Okay, _cheri_?” 

“O-k-kay,” Dan manages, though it’s hard to spit anything coherent out. “Fuck.” 

He didn’t mean to let the expletive slip, but he’s hoping Phil will see it as a second part of his answer to the question. Phil continues at a more fervent pace now, working the object in and out of him in a steady rhythm, his other hand still twined with Dan, gripping back just as hard. 

“You look so gorgeous like this,” Phil says, hard to hear over the loud hum of the vibrator, “_totalement impuissant_.”

Dan tries his best, but cannot work out what Phil means. He can ask later, when his balls aren’t turning turquoise. He means to let out a long sigh, but a groan comes out instead. His hips twitch against the pillow, which undoubtedly has been soaked through with his precome, at this point. 

Just as suddenly as it started, the vibrator stops. Phil draws it away, and Dan is too on edge to even make a sound. He just breathes heavily into the duvet, mouth open, trying to regain any modicum of control. 

“Here’s the thing, Dan,” Phil says, and as he says it, he leans right over, pressing all along Dan’s back. His dick, unclothed now, nestles between Dan’s cheeks, tauntingly. Dan’s tied hands are so close to it. If he stretched out his fingers, he might be able to touch it, but he doesn’t dare. “I really would have liked to fuck you now. But I can’t forget that little mishap from earlier. You disobeyed me.” 

Dan shakes his head fervently, but miraculously doesn’t verbally object. Probably because he can’t exactly remember how to form real words after that experience. 

“Yes, _chaton_. You did. And _chatons coquins _have to be punished.” 

Dan whines in protest, but his bum jerks backwards, pushing into Phil’s dick, betraying his desperation. Phil drops a regretful kiss between Dan’s shoulder blades, then leans up, settling back between his legs. 

“Remember your safeword, Dan,” Phil says, which sends an immediate trill of fear up Dan’s spine. Luckily, he’s too strung out to really feel it. “Just say it if it gets too much.”

At first, the sensation of Phil’s ‘punishment’ is so far from what he’d been expecting that Dan wonders if Phil has had a mix up. Fronds of some kind of fabric, like tassels, or the fringe of one of those leather cowboy jackets, run up and down his back, tickling and very pleasant. Then, they lift away from him, and land back on his skin all at once, softly thwacking. It’s not even enough to sting. 

“Okay?” Phil asks, one hand on the top of Dan’s thigh, the other presumably holding this strange tasselled object. 

“Uh huh,” Dan replies, a little confused. 

This time, the fronds are brought down with a bit more force, batting against his buttocks first from the left, and then the right, as if Phil is swishing them through the air from side to side. Still, it is not pain that Dan feels, but a sudden, sharp pressure, akin to someone giving him a high five. He sighs into the realisation that this is actually rather nice, as punishments go, and sinks into the mattress, more than willing to endure until the time comes where Phil decides he’s had enough, and finally fucks him senseless. 

Phil pauses again. “Still okay, _chaton_?” 

“_Oui, oui_,” Dan says, drowsily, high on the lust-born endorphins pumping through his veins. 

His dick still aches in a pounding, almost painful way, so he hopes this will not last long. He needs release badly, needed it hours ago, back at PJ’s, when this all began. The mattress jostles, Phil is resettling himself, possibly drawing up onto his knees, though Dan can’t be sure. Then, Phil draws the fronds back, and lands them back on Dan’s skin with considerably more force. Again, they slap against his bare buttocks, and this time it does sting a tiny bit. Nowhere near enough to prompt Dan to use his safeword, but enough that his eyes peel open, and he readies himself for the next blow. It comes quickly, on the same spot - the left cheek, Phil seems fond of that one - and then a third time. The exact same amount of pressure; Phil is still in total control of himself, evidently, which is reassuring. 

“How about now?” Phil asks.

“Yes,” Dan replies. It comes out as a whisper. 

“You’re doing so well,” Phil tells him, his own voice a shade of itself now, “behaving perfectly. If you’re this good through the whole punishment, _chaton_, I’ll fuck you so deep. I’ll make you come if you’re good for me, Dan. Can you be good for me?” 

Dan’s cheeks are burning, as they always do when Phil talks this way. It only happens at times like this, in the midst of these heady, wildly sensual moments, when Dan is so far gone into his sexual delirium that he wakes up in the morning wondering if he dreamed they were ever spoken at all. 

Now, he says, “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

“_Bon chaton_.” 

Dan shivers, and the flog comes down again, hitting his right cheek this time. He doesn’t have time to feel surprised before it comes again on his left, a rapid rhythm of blows suddenly set in motion. The more they strike against him, the more sore the landing areas become; he can imagine his skin pinkening, and when he feels Phil’s shudder, he senses that’s why. 

“Nearly there, baby,” Phil huffs out. 

Dan wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he adores these pet names Phil gives him, loves that he only hears them when they’re alone; sometimes, in his private fantasies, he imagines scenarios where Phil calls him _chaton, ange, baby, mon coeur _in public - the humiliation of flushing bright red as the word leaves Phil’s lips, because it would feel so intimate, so personal. Always, this dreamed scenario is enough to make Dan ridiculously hard in seconds. 

The flog is relentless, and there’s a point where Dan thinks it may never stop at all; his skin feels raw and the pain is definitely swelling now, but he grits his teeth against it, counts the blows (_eighty-eight, eighty-nine..._) until finally, at one-hundred, Phil stops. He drops the flog to the floor, Dan hears it fall, and leans in to press a kiss on either one of Dan’s sensitised cheeks. He also pushes his lips to Dan’s twitching hole, which makes him yelp, and Phil chuckle. 

Phil doesn’t say anything, but Dan can hear his ragged breaths as he pops the lube bottle open again. The sound of the gel being slicked over Phil’s cock is like a symphony. It’s all Dan can do not to beg him to hurry up; now that the punishment is over, there’s surely only one more step left in Phil’s masterplan. 

When the slippery head of Phil’s cock rubs over Dan’s puckered entrance, he could weep. A tear, sprung from the intensity of the flogging and the vibration, does leak out. Phil presses his chest against Dan’s back, the tops of his thighs leaning against the sore patches on his cheeks, which makes Dan whimper. He presses a kiss to the shell of Dan’s ear, then bites, softly, at the lobe. 

_“Tu est parfait, mon coeur.” _

He slides in, gently at first, then, when he meets no resistance, a lot quicker. He buries himself deeply, just like he promised, and Dan groans, tugs feebly at his belted wrists. As he writhes, the nipple clamps snag and twist in the covers, making him moan louder. Sensing this, Phil scrabbles at the belt tying Dan’s hands and unfastens it, letting his arms spring free. Then, he snakes a hand beneath Dan’s body and pulls him, with strength that seems inhuman, onto all fours. 

It’s a position Dan has never loved in theory, but in practice it has whole oceans of benefits he’d never considered: as his hips rock forwards, allowing himself to pump in and out of Dan’s body, Phil is able to twirl and tug on the clamps, and with his other hand, can fist Dan’s cock in time to his thrusts. The combination of these sensations is catastrophic to Dan’s willpower, and he knows immediately that he cannot last even a minute of this before he comes so hard it might kill him. 

Judging by Phil’s breathing pattern, along with the erratic timing of his hip movements, Dan doesn’t suspect he will last a lot longer, so he doesn’t let himself worry, and just gives in to the overwhelming ecstasy. Phil’s thrusts speed up, chasing his own high, and the hand wrapped around Dan’s dick moves just as hurriedly, until Dan is keening, choking out broken sounds he didn’t know he could even make. His arms are noodly, threatening to falter from under him; the little pulses of charged thrill from the things Phil’s clever fingers are doing to his nipples are making Dan light-headed, on top of everything else. 

It’s Dan that comes first; he doesn’t quite see it coming, thinks he has another second or two, so it slams into him unexpectedly, knocking his arms and legs right out from under him, until he’s writhing in the covers, trapping Phil’s hands beneath him as he falls. Phil just presses himself against Dan’s back, still thrusting deep into him, peppering Dan’s orgasm with further pulses of bliss. 

Phil follows soon after, mouthing at the back of Dan’s neck, scraping the skin with his teeth as his cock pulses inside of Dan. His hands are clamped onto Dan’s, palms to the backs of his, their fingers slotted together. Dan waits it out, murmuring wordless sounds of encouragement; after a while, Phil stills, breathing fast but soft. 

He pulls out of Dan carefully, avoiding his sore cheeks as best he can, for which Dan is grateful. When Phil kneels up, Dan rolls over onto his back, red-faced, one of his nipple clamps having come off. Phil giggles, unfastens the other one and tosses it to the floor before laying down beside him. Dan opens his mouth to make a post-coitus request, but Phil pre-empts it, pulling Dan half on top of him, cuddling him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then, when Dan leans up, another to his mouth. 

“Was that okay?” Phil asks, gently. He brushes some sweaty curls from Dan’s forehead. 

Dan nods, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It was fun.” 

Phil looks from his left eye to his right, assessing. “You don’t just have to say so, if you didn’t...”

“I did, though,” Dan assures him. He’s surprised to find that he means it. That _had_ been fun, in an exhilarating, ‘try new things’ kind of way. “I might still need to be eased in to this sort of stuff for a while, but,” Dan bites his lip, feeling suddenly kind of shy, stupidly, “it was, um. Hot. Really hot.” 

Phil tips his head back, letting out a small groan. “God it was so hot,” he agrees. “You are just so, so hot, Dan. You drive me _fou_. Crazy.”

Dan feels his cheeks growing warm. “You’re mistaken. You’re the ridiculously sexy one.” 

“I’m glad the feeling’s mutual,” Phil says, laughing. He rolls them until they’re facing one another, faces centimetres apart. “I love you a lot, Dan. Thank you for indulging me this evening.” 

“I mean, fair’s fair,” Dan says, shrugging to distract from the golden glow that he’s certain is now radiating out from his chest, “you won the all or nothing. Next time, when I win, I get to test out all _my_ weird kinks.” 

Phil laughs, a bit _too_ hard for Dan’s liking. 

He shoves Phil in the shoulder, indignantly. “Hey, I might have kinks. You don’t know.” 

“Furry stuff?”

“I’m going to kill my housemates for ever mentioning that.”

“I’d do furry stuff for you,” Phil says solemnly, though there’s a glitter to his eyes. “That’s _l’amour vrai_.” 

“Hmm,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “In that case, I’ll ask Peej if we can wear animal onesies next games night.” 

“I’m gonna be a lemur,” Phil says, grinning. “Does that work for you?”

“Oh yeah. So hot.”

“Cool. Now,” Phil says, kissing Dan on the nose, “say you love me too, and I might let you come in the shower with me. In every sense of the word.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, though his cock twitches, traitorously. “_Je t’aime, Monsieur Lester. D’accord_?” 

The corner of Phil’s mouth tilts up, then joined by the other side until he’s full on beaming, eyes soft and crinkled in the corners. “_D’accord, cheri_.” 


End file.
